Life and Other Inconveniences(100)

“Want to look around in the woods?” I asked. “Not that we’re gonna find anything after all these years.”

“That’s why we’re here, right?”

We climbed down and went along the narrow little path into the woods, side by side. I wished he’d hold my hand again, but maybe he’d just been helping me up. It had felt so nice, though.

“This is a deer trail,” Rav said.

“Cool.”

“I wish you were staying here,” he said, looking at the ground. “I never met a girl I liked so much.” He looked up. “Sorry if that was weird.”

“No,” I said. “That was . . . that was nice.”

Then, before I could think too much about it, I leaned forward and kissed him, just a quick kiss on the lips, just enough to feel that his were soft and warm.

Then we looked at each other. “You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice cracking a little.

“And you have the darkest.” I smiled, then he did, too, and we kept going, wandering in the woods, pushing back branches, climbing over rocks.

My first kiss. His too, I’d bet.

It was nice. It was more than nice. It was exactly right.

We didn’t find anything relating to Sheppard, of course. We checked in what might’ve been fox dens, and under fallen trees, but there were no skeletons, no fifty-five-year-old scraps of clothing, no lonely little shoe. And I was glad. I wanted Gigi’s scenario to be true—somewhere, far away, her son was a grown man with a happy family.

At some point, Rav and I held hands again, and he killed a mosquito on my arm. Chivalry. We surprised a deer and stood in awe for a second, so close we could see its eyelashes and the veins in its ears before it bounded into the woods.

I got two texts from my mom, asking how it was going and reminding me to reapply sunscreen. Rav got three from his, mostly the same, but with a reminder that he was a gentleman and there would be hell to pay if he put a toe out of line, and she had her ways of knowing. We laughed a lot over that one.

We didn’t kiss again. We didn’t have to. Instead, we ate our food, talked about school, movies, normal stuff. I told him about being iced out by my friends, and he said, “They sound like bitches,” and for the first time, the thought of seeing the girls again didn’t make me feel anything other than bored.

When we got back to Sheerwater, he walked me to the door. “You want to do something this week?” he asked.

“Sure. Anything.”

He smiled, and my heart felt weird and hot and stretchy.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I said.

“Thanks for letting me. Bye!”

And that was that, no big deal, except I felt incredibly happy. Just pure, clear happiness, because a nice boy liked me back.





CHAPTER 30


    Emma


Riley helped me pick out clothes for my date with Miller; she’d become quite the little fashionista since living here. “Color, texture and pattern,” she said, sounding way too much like my grandmother.

“And here I thought jeans and a T-shirt was fine.”

“It is fine. You just don’t have the right jeans and T-shirt. Too bad you’re too busty for Genevieve’s clothes.” She rustled in my closet, sighing from time to time.

“It’s just dinner, honey. Not the Oscars.”

“It’s a date, isn’t it?”

I felt my face getting warm. “Um . . . maybe? Kind of?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She popped out of the closet with some clothes in her hand.

“What time are your brothers coming over?” I asked.

“Seven. Listen, Mom. I wanted to wait till we were alone, but . . .”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She sat on my bed. “I kissed Rav today.”

Be cool, be cool, I told myself. “How was it?” Don’t cry, she’s sixteen, it’s fine, it’s normal.

She smiled. “It was nice. No tongue, don’t worry.”

“Honey—”

“Please, please, please don’t tell me about you and Dad. I know where I came from, okay?”

I swallowed. “Okay. So . . . tell me about it.” Was that the right response? What would I tell a client? Was I screwing this up?

“It was very . . . quick. But it was a legit kiss just the same. He said he liked me a lot, and I just leaned in and kissed him. And we held hands for a little while.” She blushed and picked at the fringe of her shorts. “That’s all.”

“It sounds really . . . romantic.”

She beamed at me. “It was, Mom. It was legitimately perfect. I mean, I’m not in love. But I’m in crush, I think.”

“And he’s a nice, kind boy? He seems like it, but . . .”

“He is. Don’t worry, Mom. You taught me well.”

Did I? Not by example, at any rate. “Thanks. Just . . . take things slow, okay? And talk to me about anything, no matter how personal or embarrassing. I’ll always give you my best advice. I love you, and I’d never steer you wrong on purpose.”

“See? You say these things, and I’m like, ‘I have the best mother in the world.’” She hugged me, and I tried not to cry. Then she pulled back. “Aw! You’re crying! You’re so cute, Mama. Okay, back to your clothes. Then we’ll do your makeup. You older women need to embrace highlighting, you know.”